


Pleasant Company

by The_Plaid_Slytherin



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed 1, Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/pseuds/The_Plaid_Slytherin
Summary: The last thing Altair wants is for Malik to see him return to the Assassin's Bureau less than gracefully. That is, until he needs his help.
Relationships: Malik Al-Sayf/Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Pleasant Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



Altair hung from the latticed roof of the Assassin's Beaureau, his legs swinging feebly over nothing before he was forced to let go. He usually dropped into the room upon returning from a job, but he was usually flush with a cocky pride and much less injured. This time, he had barely escaped with his life, though the target had surrendered his. 

Altair landed flat on his back, grateful for the pillows. Both because it hurt less and because it might have masked the sound of his graceless return. 

Altair waited, listening. Footsteps from the back room. Damn. 

Altair wondered why he wasn't moving as he watched Malik's candle approach. Presently, he realized it was because he couldn't. 

"What are you doing?" Malik asked. 

"Resting." Anything to get him to go away.

"A queer way of resting you have." Malik set his candle on the table. 

"And I do not need your help with it." 

"Is Alam dead?" 

"And half the city guard." 

In the flickering candlelight, Malik's grin was almost predatory. Like he was a cat and Altair was a fallen bird. "And you are still not standing." 

Altair lurched to his feet and his injured leg buckled immediately, sending him sprawling to the pillows. 

Malik's laughter was infuriating, though it did not seem to be all mocking. "Come. You must help me because I only have the one arm. Take the candle." 

Altair did as he was told. Perhaps it was easier to obey Malik here in the near-darkness where they could not see each other clearly. He sat without complaint as Malik pulled his boot off with Altair's help. It was slow going, but Altair made no word of complaint. Left to his own devices, he would still be lying on his back beneath the entrance. 

"So, how did this happen? The great Altair stumbling back bleeding and broken?" 

"Maybe you should have waited up for me, Malik, and seen my fall for yourself." 

Malik snickered. "Perhaps next time I will do just that. I am sorry indeed that I missed it."

Altair was saved from having to reply by the hiss of pain that left his mouth unbidden as Malik touched his thigh.

"It will hurt," Malik said irritably. "Take your trousers off." 

Altair was almost glad for his aloofness; it somehow made things less awkward. He could not imagine Malik willingly touching him in any other context. 

Indeed, his touch was gentler than Altair had ever imagined Malik capable of. He seemed to know what he was doing, and he guided Altair's hands when he needed two with a brusqueness that might have been arousing in a different context.

Or perhaps in exactly this context. 

It wasn't just that, Altair reasoned. It was the sudden rush of cold air, the careful and lingering touches on his upper thigh, and Malik's orders, yes, Malik's orders, that made it twitch.

Any hope that Malik might not notice died instantly as he met Altair's eye. "Is this what interests you, Altair? Being injured?"

"It's not that." He answered too quickly, was too hasty to correct the misconception when he should have simply ignored Malik for being Malik that he'd blundered into revealing too much. 

Malik laughed, that derisive snort that made what might have been dismissed as an accidental twitch obvious for what it was. 

"Well, well," Malik breathed. "I can take care of this, too, if you're not up to it." 

Altair could not let the challenge pass. "And what would you do with it?" 

Malik said nothing, not taking his gaze off Altair as he wrapped his hand around Altair's cock. Under Malik's gaze and his touch, Altair became putty. He might have tried to resist it, but he did not want to. He groaned. Even Malik seemed to have forgotten that this was supposed to be his moment of triumph over the arrogant Altair. His eyes were very dark in the flickering light from the candle and his hand worked with a desperation that implied he wanted nothing more than to finish Altair and flee to the sanctuary of his own chamber. 

Altair saw no reason to give him the satisfaction of that. He pushed Malik's robe up, fingertips brushing Malik's already hard cock. There was no sound but their rough breathing as they worked each other's cocks in desperate silence. Malik's face was flushed, his hair mussed; the entire picture was enough to make Altair come, though he would not do it without pressing his lips to Malik's in what was sure to be a bruising kiss. He hoped Malik's lips would be swollen and needy when he pulled back, begging for another kiss. 

Malik's response, as though he could read Altair's thoughts, was to bite Altair's lower lip as he came; he tasted his own blood. 

"I hope I have managed to make you forget the pain of being stabbed by Alam's guards." 

"I would forget it more if I had a comfortable bed to sleep in." 

"That room will do for you. I—" Malik sighed. "Forget it. Come to bed, Altair. We can sort this mess out in the morning."

Malik did not always make pleasant company while awake, but he was warm in bed, Altair would give him that. He could hardly blame himself if he availed himself of that every time he came to Jerusalem in the future.


End file.
